


These walls closing in

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know what else to tag this, Sex Pollen, Trust, aforementioned state isn't nice, and skye is trying to hate him, but that's not really working, helping skye, post season two premiere, skye makes some problematic decisions due to aphrodisiac induced state, the issue isn't overlooked but it's addressed, trigger warning: suicide attempt mentioned, ward doing what he promised to do, which means ward is their prisoner seeking atonement, which to some people could feel like dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the team raided a Hydra base, Skye got exposed to an airborne substance with aphrodisiac effects. Now she has considerable problem on her hands, and everything she tires doesn't really help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These walls closing in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lily1986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily1986/gifts), [serenitysea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/gifts).



> My buddy wanderingrookie wanted some skyeward smut to brighten up her day after the premiere aired. After the bucketloads of angst I failed to come up with something fluffy. I wanted to try my hand with this particular trope for awhile now, and it turned out, this was a good way to work through the emotions I was left with after watching "Shadows". So, dedicating this one to wanderingrookie and b-isforbombshell, because they deserve to drown in these feels right along with me.

Jemma had worst ideas. Jemma had officially worst ideas ever. Skye was sitting on the edge of the gurney, looking expectantly at her. She felt itchy, hot, sweaty, _gross_. No, please no, she thought. 

“Jemma? What is it?” 

The way she hesitated, though. Skye closed her eyes and wished for something to press her head against. Press herself against. Someone. Tall and firm and, crap, no, don't go there. 

“I am afraid the substance you've encountered in the lab is some kind of airborne aphrodisiac,” Jemma explained in her scientific tone, using perfectly scientific words. In front of Trip, May and Hunter. (Thankfully Coulson wasn't around.)

“Bloody hell,” Hunter said, “who makes airborne sex drugs in a biochemical warfare lab?”

Skye cast him can-you-not glance, but Hunter, subtle as a brick, carried on. “What did they want the enemy to do? Fuck until they die?”

“Possibly,” Jemma snapped off the gloves and glared at Lance. “When one is too distracted to fight -”

“Point fucking taken,” Lance said and then grinned at Skye. “No pun intended.” 

“You boy, go and rinse your mouth,” Trip said, grabbing Lance by the collar. “And rest of us -” he glanced at may who nodded, gave Skye and Jemma a worried look and walked after the guys. 

Skye sighed. She felt terrible. No, she felt great, sort of needing a good hard fuck right now sort of great, only there was no solution to her problem in sight. “That time when we joked about this, it seemed funny,” Skye complained. “Can you do something about this?”

Jemma gave her one of her practical looks and smiled. “I can give you a sedative, which should lower your heart rate and relax your muscles... but I think the best way to deal with this is... the natural way.”

“What?” 

“Have sex, of course,” Jemma said. Skye's mouth dropped open. She'd react more drastically at her friend's cheerful suggestion, only she was so damn horny, the mere mention of sex... oh no, God, please no. 

“With _whom_?” 

“Skye,” Jemma gave her a patient smile. “There are a lot of very fine looking men on the base. I am certain one of them would suit your temporary needs. I mean, there must be someone you like enough for something akin to one night stand in medical purposes?” 

“What?”

“Think of it like this, Skye,” Jemma paused. “Aphrodisiacs are meant to help provide the fun. I mean, you could have run into a worse substance. This will wear off with enough time, or appropriate action taken. Now... do you want that sedative I mentioned?”

*

The sedative did little. Her muscles relaxed a little and her breathing was easier, but the rest? No progress. Skye took a shower, first warm and then cold, which didn't help. She tried her herbal tea, she tried to sleep, she tried to work (nothing to occupy your mind like a difficult computer problem) but all she could think about was being horny and Jemma's suggestion. (Needing sex. Wanting sex. And the fact that there wasn't anyone she particularly wanted to fuck, except... _tall, dark, handsome_....Don't go there, she thought, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.)

Okay, maybe if she tried to fix the problem by herself? It usually worked, and it wasn't like she didn't have needs – but with the missions and training and briefings, she didn't have time to get laid. 

Fifteen minutes, an orgasm and another shower later, she felt only worse. 

It was time to hit the gym. 

The boxing bag didn't bring her exactly relief, but the sheer physical extortion of the exercise was a welcome thing. She kept hitting relentlessly and the bag bounced around her – there was nobody to hold it, like Ward held it back when -

She paused, sweaty and sore. _Don't think of Ward_. Skye continued punching, but the sight of his face was now in her mind's eye, but as uninvited as she wanted him to be, he was there to stay. His face was different now, half covered with beard but softer than she remembered from before. 

_No_ , she thought. She shouldn't be thinking of his eyes or his arms or the way his lips stood out against thick black scruff covering his face. 

“You could spend that energy more efficiently.”

Skye stopped, startled. It was only May. 

“What.... do you mean?” 

“The less you know someone, the better it works,” May said. 

*

After which they conveniently needed supplies. Skye was twitchy and shivery in the seat next to May, as the older woman drove. If anyone wondered why they went out for supplies so late, nobody dared to ask. 

“Take care of yourself,” May said when they reached the town. Skye saw a board with the name when they passed it but letters on it blurred. It didn't matter anyway. She knew what she needed to do, after which everything would be back to normal. “Call me when you're done,” May said and left. 

*

Skye wasn't interested in the bar or getting a drink, she didn't need a drink. She just needed a guy who was willing to help out. 

The search wasn't long at all, even though she wasn't dressed for going out. Maybe it was the need written all over her face. Half an hour later she was in a back alley, fingers digging into the humid bricks of the wall behind her. And the guy was actually just fine, and if she had time and patience to chat, she was pretty sure she'd enjoy his sense of humor. Right now she was enjoying what he was about to do to her. 

“Handjobs only,” she growled moments before his fingers slipped inside. She wasn't going to let a complete stranger push his dick into her in some dark blind alley. This should do. His name was Matt or maybe Mark and she liked the way he kissed. Not that she needed foreplay of any kind. 

“Sure thing, doll,” he said and pushed her jeans and panties down. 

Fuck. She could do this with her eyes closed. If she was unnaturally horny, and if her technique on him was sloppy, he didn't complain. Matt – Mark – Mike was smelling nice and his breath was hot against her skin and his facial hair felt so good. Two fingers didn't feel enough so she demanded more and harder and had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming. _This_. It felt so different now when she wasn't doing it by herself, it felt oh so much _better_. “More,” She asked. The promise of a release was _right there_ and Skye was desperate for it. “Harder,” she said again as her body shivered and her heart raced. Her skin felt several sizes too small, fingers inside of her were making her oversensitive, suddenly not a good fit any more. She came loudly and slumped against the wall and the guy came right after. 

“You're a wild ride, doll,” he said, zipping his pants up. “I won't mind doing this again, should you stop by.” He kissed her, thanked her, and was gone. 

Skye pulled her jeans up and took a deep breath. Her underwear was sticky and wet and cold; and her arousal was still there, making her feel like her blood was itchy. The need was dulled, but far, far from gone. 

Fuck. This felt like drinking a glass of water when she needed ten. 

*

May didn't ask and Skye didn't comment. When they returned she went straight for the lab. Jemma worked late these days. 

“Your blood pressure is worrying me,” Jemma said, drawing a vial of blood first and injecting benzodiazepine after, a larger dose this time. “This would normally put you to sleep.” 

Skye sighed. “If it helps me feel less horny, I'll be very thankful.” 

Jemma disposed her gloves and the syringe she used. “Well,” her tone of a practical scientist was laced with concern. “This kind of situation might require what one would call, a few rounds.” 

Jemma just had this unique ability to make Skye's jaw drop. “Well I am usually a do – it – cuddle – after type of girl,” Skye said. She liked naps between her rounds. And partners she was at least familiar with, thank you very much. 

“Well, this is not a normal type of situation, and according to your latest blood test, the drug is still very present in your blood stream -”

Skye rubbed her temples. “I wish I had money for a hooker,” she said. “I'll be in... my bunk, I guess.” 

“Good luck,” Jemma smiled. Skye only groaned. 

*

The sedative did help somewhat, and Skye managed to get a nap. When she woke up, the need to have sex, lots of sex, was back with a vengeance. She pulled down pajama bottoms and panties, both soaked through and without much thought slipped two fingers inside herself. 

Her own hand felt and familiar, and with her left wrist covering her mouth, Skye let herself get lost. The upside was that she knew how to touch herself and what worked; the downside of it was that she was alone. The guy from the bar brought something to the experience she was missing right now – hands that felt new and unpredictable and hot breath against her mouth and scarp of beard against her cheeks, and before she could censor her mind, Skye wondered what Ward's would feel like. Was it soft, the way it looked? 

How would it feel if his face was between her legs?

Skye opened her eyes just to banish the thought from her mind, but a moment later she was coming. 

_No,_ she thought. 

She needed to sort is out. Somehow. 

*

Back to boxing bag it was. Only now Skye didn't know how she was feeling – she couldn't distinguish between wired up and exhausted, frustrated and constantly turned on. She kept on punching, because this stuff had to leave her system at some point (if she was tired enough? Drank enough water? Peed it out? Shed enough sweat??) - currently, all she wanted was to ride someone until she went numb. 

Trip was out of the question. He was like a big brother to her. And if he was like a big brother, Fitz was like a younger one. Mack was just a teddy bear and fucking him like she needed would leave her emotionally scarred and Koenig was just no, and that left Lance. (And Ward.) Which meant, Lance. He was an okay guy in fight, but they weren't exactly friends, which meant no-strings-attached would be easier to negotiate. And he seemed like a guy who wouldn't mind. 

Skye unwrapped her hands and dumped the bandages in her gym bag, which she left in the corner. She didn't bother with a shower when she headed towards the living area. 

Her search was short. Lance, the guy who obviously never slept, was in the kitchen, grabbing a beer. 

“I need a favor,” she said matter-of-factly. He raised an eyebrow at her as he brought the bottle to his lips. (Ward used a glass. Always, when he had one.) Lance waited for an explanation and Skye didn't feel like explaining. She pulled her loose shirt over her head, which left her in her workout top. 

“Ah love,” Lance drawled, making a vague resisting gesture with both his hands. Something inside her collapsed. (This was disgusting. She was being disgusting.) “No. I don't think that is a good idea.” 

“I need a guy who'd do this for me,” Skye said. “I'm not exactly looking for candles and rose petals.”

Lance shook his head. “Unless you went shopping for bathroom supplies with May, which I doubt you did, I don't think that strategy worked.”

For reasons she didn't want to contemplate, Skye felt instantly furious. (Seriously, was she repelling?)

“What... are you on about?”

“If that stuff is anything like other aphrodisiacs, I doubt it erases one's desire to fuck a specific person. And you know, people occasionally want that. To shag a specific rather than random person. Now, if you'll excuse me -”

And then Lance was gone.

*

Nearly twenty four hours have passed and Skye was thankful there wasn't a mission for her to do. Because she felt awful. 

She locked the door and drew the curtains over her windows couple of hours ago, and right now, she was completely naked on her bed, sweating, breathing shallow and feeling barely human. 

And she needed to fuck. At this point she reconciled with the fact that nothing else was going to help. She _had_ to fuck. A lot. 

She gave up trying to filter Ward out of her mind. It was pointless – her brain just wouldn't listen – and now she did think of him. 

And the problem with Ward was this. He was a traitor. Obviously. She hated him. (Or at least she tried.) She was fucking disappointed and angry and she wanted to rip him apart, and that wold be fine had he been that guy from months ago. One that had the nerve to claim that everything was a lie, except his feelings for her – in that part her heart was pure. 

Bullshit. 

Except. 

Ward from two months ago didn't try any of that shit. No excuses. None of _some day you'll understand_ ; no, he didn't even ask her to forgive him, just as he had promised. When she came for intel, he gave it to her, and when she did her best to cut into him with her words, he looked at her like he found god. 

(And what a cruel god she was. One made of sharp edges, ready to cut anyone who came too close. Especially him. Only he didn't defend himself, instead he folded at her feet like silk. It took all the triumph of her remarks away.)

He had a room now. A real bed, real clothes, a computer, where he sat at during their missions, telling them where to go. When to stay put. And true to his promise, he never led them astray. If there was pain between the lines, if there were unspoken questions and unheeded answers, Skye told herself that she wasn't interested. That she was done with him, and that she hated him, no matter what he did. 

Only she saw the opposite of divine when she looked in the mirror, and Ward's eyes still lit up when she entered the room. 

Skye needed a shower. Her things were shaking. Her skin felt like on fire. Like on autopilot she wandered into her bathroom, to pour cold water over herself. She patted her skin dry and found fresh clothes and then, running on desperation and blinding need, she crossed the distance to Ward's room. 

*

Ward had been asleep. 

Now that he lived in a normal room, with sunlight and a real bed and real food and bathroom, he resembled himself more. (He didn't wander around too much, he had to carry a tracker bracelet – one that could deliver an electric shock if needed – only it wasn't needed.) 

Skye was shaking on the inside as he looked down at her – she had been barefoot, without her usual heels, and he was so tall she had to look up. When he ran his hand over his face, Skye's throat went dry. 

“Skye,” he half whispered, because it was night, and the hallway was quiet and dark. “Is there something wrong?” 

“I need help,” she said. 

“Oh,” he let her come in, and when she did, their hands brushed. It felt like an electric jolt. Skye wanted more. She wanted to reach out and touch him. He was wearing soft clothes to bed – a t shirt and pajama pants and she could smell him, she could even feel the warmth he radiated. “I heard something went wrong on the last mission. I was worried,” he said, and when she didn't say anything, he remained silent. 

“Yeah, something went wrong,” Skye said. She felt like her skin was shrinking, like the only thing that might help was to rip it apart. Skye looked at his hands. Even if she couldn't see the scars on his wrists, she knew they would there. Desperation was a funny thing. Did he feel anything like this? Like it would be better if he could just cut it all out out of him? “And I need help.”

“What do you need?” he asked. And he expected it to be about intel, about strategy and planning and maps, but Skye knew he'd do anything. Which was why this wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair. She shouldn't be horny for him, but he was here and his voice was in her head when she pushed her fingers into herself, and she needed this to end. 

“We raided a base and didn't know there was a lab inside. During the fight with one of their men I knocked over a container,” she said and she could see him react instantly – worry washing over his lines, and him wanting to spring into action, only in the next moment he stopped – because she drew up the walls and he remained sitting beneath them. Just as the rules demanded. “It – the stuff inside – it was an aphrodisiac. And I inhaled it. That was – roughly twenty four hours ago. And it's not going away. And I need -” 

Skye realized how his face changed. How he carefully kept himself in check, didn't move, didn't say a word, but now his eyes were filled with _something_. And it called out to her. 

“Ward -”

“Are you aware what you're asking me to do?” he said. His voice was quiet and unsteady. And hers was, too. 

“Yes. I tired – tried other things. But... nothing helps,” she said, and as she did, she realized another thing there, just below her thoughts – fear. Because her body was out of control. Because this wasn't going away, because it was draining both her body and mind and she felt like she was losing it. “I... I don't feel well.”

“Skye,” he took a step closer. Skye didn't think her heart rate could pick up but it did. Because this could be it. The help she needed. Oh God. “Why not someone else? I know that you and I -”

Skye closed her eyes. This was it, wasn't it? The crux of the matter. The thing Lance was blabbing about. The Matt – Mark – Mike guy would have worked on any other occasion except now. The drug was making her look into the image Ward looked every time she walked in and demanded intel, and Skye didn't like what she was seeing. 

“Because,” she said and her breath caught. Ward was there, standing tall and dark over her, and darkness felt good. It felt appealing, like a shelter she craved. Because she wanted to hide. “Because I need you.”

He reached out with his hand, almost touching her. Skye shivered. Closed her eyes. He pulled his hand away. 

“But do you trust me?” he asked further. 

She opened her eyes and swallowed. She just wanted to fuck him, that was all. In her mind this heart – to – heart wasn't necessary. It was exactly what May advised her not to do. But he was right. He didn't ask for forgiveness, but he didn't want to give her more reasons to hate him. 

And the thing was.... the thing was, she didn't trust herself. She went to a nameless town with a sole purpose to fuck a stranger. Whose name she didn't even remember. She didn't even enjoy the fuk all that much. She did a list of men at the base, just to find someone else who'd be willing to fuck her as long as she needed it, and when her body reached the point of desperation, she finally admitted to herself that she wanted to fuck him. 

So it wasn't about him, or trusting him. At some base level, she never stopped, she only kept that part of herself shut up. Every time he told her the truth, every time he went above and beyond of what she asked and what the mission needed, she told herself that it meant nothing. That his scars meant nothing. (Even if she couldn't bring herself to look at them.)

So she took a deep breath. He wouldn't make a move if she didn't. She took off her top and revealed the bare expanse of her skin, and then pushed rest of her clothes down her legs. 

“I do. I do trust you,” she said. 

His eyes grew dark. Skye expected him to lunge into action but he didn't. Instead he took her hand and gently pulled. She followed him to his bed. He sat down and pulled her into his lap.

*

She was breathing hard and labored and he was holding her like a porcelain doll. 

“What do you need?” he asked. Skye pulled at his shirt impatiently and he let her. Skin on skin contact made her shudder, but it was different than frustration fever of before. 

“Get me off,” she heard herself saying, voice shaky, barely hers. She was pulling his face close and pressing forehead against his, her lips hanging above his. The beard covering his face felt wonderful. She rubbed her cheek against his and moaned. He held her securely, so she wouldn't fall off his lap.“Any way you know.” 

“Okay,” he said, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders. She felt so small. So weak. He felt stronger than her, and in this moment he was, and she needed that. She needed someone who was stronger than this. He stroked her cheek and she felt something in her breaking. He was careful, he was caring. Soothing whisper over her ragged edges, after months of her words wrapped in daggers and barbed wire. “What do you want first?”

“To kiss you,” she said against his lips. Not that she couldn't just do it – or that he would pull away. It just didn't feel right like that. 

“Okay,” he said again. And then he kissed _her_ , the kind of kiss that had her opening her mouth and letting him inside. Slow and hot, agonizing kiss, filled with feelings and longing and things that hit her square in the chest. It felt so good and distracting enough that she didn't notice his right hand falling to her thigh and then making its way between her legs. He slipped a finger inside her and she groaned into his mouth. 

“Okay?” he asked, gently moving his finger in and out. She nodded and he added another finger. Skye grabbed his shoulders as her head fell back.

“Oh God.”

“Does that feel good'” 

“Yes,” she said. He moved his hand faster and she started panting. “Yes. _Please_.”

His lips fell back to hers, and he slipped another finger in. Skye clawed his shoulders and held on – he kissed her as she kept riding his hand, moaning and cursing; without any control over the things she was saying. When he pulled her breast into his mouth, she came. It took just a few minutes. It never took just minutes. 

She was shaking, thighs tight around his hand. 

“Better?” he asked. Skye nodded. 

“I need more,” she said, spreading her legs. She rocked her hips and she was almost there again. This wasn't normal, this was anything but normal, but at least she wasn't alone any more. “Go down on me,” she said, and then added. “Please. If you want.” 

Ward moved her from his lap down onto his bed. Skye watched how his hands closed around her knees, watched him watching her. She felt awful; sweaty and shivery and disgusting, with no control over her reactions. Yet, he pressed his lips against her knee, and another over her hip, and looked at her again as if he was asking for permission, his mouth inches above her spread legs – as if she wasn't desperate and barely holding herself from pushing her body right into his face. 

His mouth covered her and she screamed. It felt perfect and it felt amazing; it felt like her skin ripping apart. Skye had to fist the sheets and plant her heels firmly into his mattress. He held her down and splayed her open and she screamed into the ceiling, and if anyone could hear her she didn't care. And it felt like the beginning of relief she needed, but she needed more. _More_. 

When she came this time, he moved above her. 

“Fuck me,” she said. 

There was nothing romantic about it – just quick, hurried work to get him naked and then to be inside her and she wrapped her legs around him and urged him to move, hard and fast. 

Once, a lifetime ago, she imagined this and imagined him naked above her, imagined him being gentle and dorky and fun, and the thing was, this was none of that. Skye loved foreplay and fun, she liked to laugh in bed and she liked hands. And now she was gone, she wanted it rough and rough was what he was giving her, and in normal circumstances it wouldn't have done it for her. 

But now it did. In mere minutes. An orgasm left her screaming without any dignity left.

And then she begged for more. 

And more. 

And again. 

She lost count of how many orgasms she had – when she finally felt exhausted – when her muscles finally went slack and loose, she was draped across him, completely covered in sweat. And the thing was, she wasn't even aware if he came or not. 

Her hair was wet and every inch of her was sticky in a not – normal way. She felt exhausted and inhuman and gross. 

“Did I hurt you?” Ward asked gently, and then she realized she started crying. 

She shook her head. 

“It's not you. I... I feel disgusting,” she said. 

“No,” he pulled her face up, and there he was, looking at her like she was good. “You're not disgusting.” As if she was still someone who could make him smile. And he kissed her – long and soft and gentle, and that was like things she dreamed about a lifetime ago. And it was just shattering because those dreams weren't hers any more – they belonged to a girl who said _bang bang_ when she learned how to shoot. 

“What do you need?” he asked. It took a couple of seconds to answer that. 

“Water,” she said. “Can you give me a glass of water?” 

He kissed her forehead and left her wrapped in sheets before he went to fetch her a glass of water. Skye drowned it, feeling marginally more human. “Sleep?” he asked, and she realized that now she was finally tired. That her clothes were scattered around the floor and that she was shivery from sweat, and that she didn't want to go out of this room and cross the cold hallway on her own. 

The thing was, Ward wasn't the one who'd make her do that. _She_ was. 

“Stay,” he said simply, claiming the other side of the bed. When he pulled her down, she relented – and after he pulled sheets and blankets over them both, and moved a strand of hair away from her face, he pulled away. He was there, but he wasn't intruding or claiming her space. 

Skye felt shaky, but better. She was fading, sleep catching up with her fast. 

“Feeling better?” Ward asked. 

“Yeah.”

His hand was pressed against the crumpled sheet, palm down, in the level of her eyes. Skye reached out, until her knuckles brushed his, barely touching. 

Across from her, Ward smiled, and it felt more intimate than everything else they've just done on this bed.

“It's okay,” Ward promised, as if he could read her thoughts. “We're okay. I don't expect anything from you. And I don't think any less of you.” 

Skye pulled her hand back and curled in on herself. 

“But I -” 

“Skye,” he said. There was heaviness in his tone she could understand now. The first move he made in this entire evening was to gently stroke her hand. “Anyone can feel … like there's no way out.” 

Skye turned her palm so it was pressed against his. Above her pulse point was the scar that almost ended his life. He tried to lift his burden by splitting himself open, and she taunted him for it. Told him he should have tried harder. She was cruel. And yet, he was here to lift her burden from her. 

“Hey,” he said, grip tightening on her fingers. “Sleep now. I'll be here when you wake up.”


End file.
